


Waiting For You To Come Back For Me

by mm8



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunkenness, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/pseuds/mm8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is called away to work on Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting For You To Come Back For Me

Gregory checked his mobile phone to see if he had any missed text messages or calls in the last twenty minutes. He'd wanted to keep the line free but he missed his daughters who lived in Leeds with his ex-wife, and they had been looking forward to their weekly video chat so much. They showed off some of their Christmas Eve presents to him: hand crocheted scarves from grandmere and Barbie dolls from their babysitter, Piper. 

No, no messages or calls from Mycroft. He hadn't really expected to hear from his partner since technically he was on some top-secret mission in Africa. But it was Christmas Eve, a time meant to be spent with friends and family. And since it was his wife's turn to have their children during Christmas, and he couldn't call anyone at the Yard actual friends outside of work, all he really had was Mycroft. But honestly, he was fine with this. Mycroft was all the company he desired, was all who he needed to be happy in this life. 

However, that was the problem. Mycroft wasn't here when he should be. Tonight should have been _magical_. They would have had a candlelit dinner at the flat. Mycroft would have paid the best chef and his team from The Dorchester to cater them. They would have sipped expensive champagne that came from the North of France. While making idle chit-chat about the weather or how the delicious meal was they'd secretly play footsie under the table, and Mycroft would caress Greg's thigh. After their dinner, Mycroft would take him to their bedroom, under the ruse of giving him an innocent back massage. _"You work too hard, Greg. Let me relieve some of that tension…"_ But Gregory would lie on his stomach, shirtless, as Mycroft kneaded his muscles with sensual oils. When he was finally loosened up, Mycroft would bend down and kiss behind his ear, a spot he'd know would dissolve Greg into goo. His husband would prepare him then, taking the massage oil as using it as a lubricant, scissoring Gregory open. Mycroft wouldn't stop until Greg was a whimpering mess, begging to be taken. When his partner was done, he would instruct Greg to get on his hands and knees, and then _finally_ Mycroft would enter him. Their love making would be slow and intimate. Mycroft would caress and kiss the spots on the detective's back that he knew would get a positive reaction. Greg could tell when Mycroft was close to coming when he began to chant his name like a mantra. Then his partner would wrap his hand around the detective's cock and pump him; their orgasms occurring right after each other. They'd lie on their bed, panting and kissing, spooning one another. Mycroft would swiftly turn on the radio, the station playing soft, soothing Christmas music. And they would drift to sleep in their sated state.

That's how it _should_ have been anyway.

He took out a fine bottle of wine, one of Mycroft's favorites, from the sleek, black thermostatically controlled wine refrigerator. Greg took out the corkscrew from the drawer a little more roughly than he should have. But he was mad damnit. Mycroft should have been able to put his work on hold for Christmas. 

Lestrade jammed the corkscrew in and began to twist. Besides, this was their first Christmas together as a married couple. The cork had been removed and set aside. Gregory picked one of his favorite wine glasses, Waterford crystal, and began to pour. Well, it would have been their first Christmas together if Mycroft had bothered to show up.

Taking his full glass and the bottle with him, Lestrade slumped on the modern, curvy, white sofa in his terrycloth bath robe. The room was dimly lit, causing the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree in the corner of the room to glow magnificently. Under the tree, that filled the room with the rich scent of pine, were piles of presents from Mycroft's mother, Greg's daughters, and even from John and Sherlock – although it didn’t even take a detective of his caliber to deduce that it had been John who'd gone to the effort. Using his wine glass, he silently raised a toast to the Christmas tree and drained its contents. Exchanging his Waterford Crystal for the wine bottle, he began to chug, not really caring that drinking alone was dangerous, and that drinking alone on Christmas Eve was probably one of the most pathetic things he had ever heard.

Greg's lips let go of the bottle with an odd suction sound that made him giggle. He could understand why Mycroft liked this wine. It was fruity, smooth, and light. It really didn't feel like he had just drunk half of the bottle in one go. Maybe he should have ate something earlier in the evening.

"Oh, Mycroft…" Greg loved tasting the name on his lips. It was so unique, so special. Just like the man himself. He chugged some more of the wine.

He grabbed one of the sofa cushions and sniffed it, trying to see if Mycroft had left any sort of scent before he abandoned him for Africa. Silently, Lestrade began to cry. That was it; he'd been abandoned by his own husband on Christmas. Greg wasn't wanted or desired by anyone, was he? God, he was pathetic. He decided to drink the rest of the bottle then and there. It tasted so good. It reminded him so much of Mycroft.

Gregory flicked on the MP3 player that was beside the sofa. Before he had left Mycroft had left it on a Christmas playlist. The first song to start was "I'll Be Home on Christmas Day" by Elvis Presley.

_I've seen and I've done most everything_  
_That a man can do or see_  
_But if I could only borrow one dream from your sleep_  
_I'd be on that train tomorrow_  
_I'll be home on Christmas day._

The tears flowed freely from Greg now. His heart ached for his husband. Sobs erupted from his chest and he squeezed the cushion tighter to his body. Lestrade fell to his side, curling in the fetal position on the sofa. Soon enough the sobs and tears subsided as he succumbed to sleep.

When Greg woke up, his head was pounding and he quickly realized he had been covered with a flannel blanket, something he was sure he had not done the night before. He could still hear the Christmas playlist, though the volume had been turned down substantially. Someone was stroking his hair as well. Blinking, he took note that the room was dark and that felt good on his eyes and head.

"Morning, lover."

He turned his head to the side and smiled. There, lying beside him, completely nude, was Mycroft. 

"I came in early this morning." Mycroft's expression softened as he caresses his cheek. "I discovered you passed out. So put a blanket over you so you'd be comfortable. I hope I was correct?"

Gregory leaned in and kissed his partner sloppily on the mouth, stroking the back of Mycroft's head with his rough hand. "But how?" He asked when they parted.

Mycroft cocked his head and bore his eyes into Lestrade. "You didn't think I'd actually miss the first Christmas with my husband did you?" He watched as Greg looked away. "Ah, I see you did. You underestimated me, Gregory." Mycroft took his face in his hands, his lips ghosting Greg's. "I knew how much spending Christmas with me meant to you. It meant a great deal to me as well." He kissed him softly, briefly. "Unfortunately, my work had to get in the way of things. I had something to do in Africa, you understand that is all I am able to tell you." He waited until Gregory nodded then moved on. "But I worked with a feverish pace and required others to do the same. I wanted, no, needed to come home to you. I took a speedy jet yesterday afternoon." Mycroft kissed him again, lingering longer this time. "I'm sorry if I have disappointed you or let you down in some way. I will do anything in my power to make it up to you, Gregory."

He was crying again to his shame. Lestrade felt such a fool for believing for an instant that Mycroft would have carelessly forgot about him. Even though his head was killing him, he grabbed his lover around the neck and kissed him, massaging Mycroft's tongue with his own.

"Merry Christmas, Mycroft." Gregory chortled as Mycroft wiped away his tears.

They lay on the sofa, bodies entwined, enjoying Christmas together.

**Author's Note:**

> * Kudos are amazing and I will never stop asking for them, but getting comments, actual feedback from readers means so much. Taking five seconds out of your time can really make my day.
>   
> 
> * You can follow me on [tumblr](http://mm8fic.tumblr.com/).
>   
> 


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